Beyond Realms and Kingdoms
by Wing of Darkness
Summary: It was a long ago promise made between kings. Not only of alliance but also of union. And with that, comes a sacred blessing from the gods. However, before there was even a chance for this promise to be fulfilled, tragedy descended upon kingdoms and trust was ripped apart. How will two races become one again? Thranduil/Thorin [Rating changed to M, rape/non-con]
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! I'm new to this fandom; uhmm well not exactly new but it's my first time attempting to submit my own fan fiction for "The Hobbit". At first, I was thinking of doing a Bagginshield pairing but recently I have found great interest in exploring what possibilities would occur when we ship Thranduil and Thorin. And yes, as you can see, I will be doing exactly that!**

**Hope you like this! Comments/reviews will be appreciated but please be mindful of the warnings! [If I have mentioned any before every chapter] **

…

**Disclaimer: **_**I wish I could build a universe as great as Tolkien's creation. Still, fan fiction is the next best thing. **_

**Pairing: ****Thranduil**[Elven King of Mirkwood]** and ****Thorin **

**Genre: Romance, Angst, Friendship**

**Warnings: Prologue/Introduction of the story ahead! Slash. **

…

**Summary: **It was a long ago promise made by the kings. Not only of alliance but also of union. And with that, comes a sacred blessing. However, as tragedy descended upon kingdoms and trust ripped apart, how will two races become one again?

Thorin has lost his home and had lived in exile. With encouraging words from a wizard whose wisdom he has once believed in, he set out to a journey to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. When Thranduil saw the exiled prince of Erebor step foot in his Forest, he knew at once how the gravity of the events to follow would impact their lives.

* * *

><p><span><strong><strong>.….. xXOOOXx ….<strong>**

**Title:**

**BEYOND REALMS AND KINGDOMS**

****.….. xXOOOXx ….****

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE<strong>

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><p>Steel against iron.<p>

Weapons strike flesh.

Battle cries and screams of anguish could never be mistaken even amongst the deafening sound of earth-shattering roars. They were the roars of Dwarves, Men, Elves, Orcs, and Wargs fighting with all their might for different intents and purposes. The sight of the battlefield beheld the overwhelming lust for revenge, honor, treasure, and power.

Thranduil was one of the beings that have witnessed war for the centuries he has lived in Middle Earth. Participating in hostilities was no longer new to him but never would he admit of getting used to it. War wasn't simply an obstacle to be treaded by ones life. It has always brought forth a terrifying change—a loss, hatred, betrayal, a hunger that may not possibly be satisfied with a fleeting hold of power and triumph. For the elf king, reasons for waging war were simply concocted excuses to extort an individual's desire to be recognized.

His eyes searched the gruesome horizon spread out before him. With a cool and collected façade he has trained himself to perfect for hundreds of years, only he could tell the dreadful weight of anxiousness creeping in his bones. This time was no easy feat though, knowing his composure was slipping as he can already feel the penetrating gaze of his son upon the back of his neck. He was aware that Legolas wouldn't let himself get distracted most of the time and especially during a death-filled battle, but he could not help but share the piercing trepidation coming off of his King's bearing. The King was terrified of something but of what exactly, he could not for the life of him tell. Nevertheless, he knew for sure the corpses of their own people and of others weren't the sole source for the King's appalling difference. Stretching out his arms together with his bow and arrow, the next second an approaching Orc has his left eye pierced through to the back of his skull.

Thranduil merely glanced at the falling strands of golden hair on the side of his face that had been cut through by the arrow of his son. A small nod of recognition that he has indeed began to get lost in his other concerns and he has his arm striking out at dead speed to his left for another Orc attempting to kill him. There were several more that followed and the King and Prince found themselves immersed in concentration to annihilate their enemies side by side. Their superior strength, precision in movements, and more than a lifetime of training has given them many advantages in the arts of fighting.

"It's not only your sword I can feel cutting through our enemy's guts." Legolas crushed an Orc's head using the heel of his boot with an elven warrior's frightening fervor. He gave a fleeting squint towards his father as he unceremoniously pulled out an arrow from a Warg's mouth. He has lost all his arrows on the heads and flesh of their enemies and despite having his sword, the thought of being able to pull his bow again never fail to make him feel more at ease.

"Concentrate on our enemies, son. It would do me no good to be the reason for an injury you might receive."

It might be the most unwise moment to feel impressed with his heir simply because the prince can tell of his thoughts and emotions even while in battle. He and Legolas had never been close despite a thousand years of living in the same kingdom. He was only ever a father when the prince was a mere elfling and he had to teach him the way to becoming the next ruler. But even then, he has passed the responsibility to his trusted scholars after a century of doing so.

"It is already an injury to see your reservations clouding your eyes."

A blunt strike went passed the King's shoulder and he found himself grimacing at the blood that was dripping on his armor and beginning to seep through his robe. Legolas pulled out his blade from the Warg's severed neck.

Thranduil had no qualms ignoring his son's words and made to turn away to face the dark beings head on once again. It doesn't matter if his divided concentration has already been revealed so long as it wouldn't be the cause of why he felt so enormously apprehensive. From his side of the field, he could see men, his army, and the dwarves all scattered in their own defensive stations—battle strategies no longer evident to be of importance amidst the chaos. His gift of superior eyesight could even see the blurry end of the war ground but one dwarf in particular he couldn't seem to find. It was frustrating and at the same time, alarming. The vile possibilities once again took over and he couldn't help but brutally charge his enemies when the thought of changing his location presented to help him see what he was looking for. He may have briefly heard Legolas shout for him but the determination in reaching his goal took over.

It wasn't with a royal grace when he fell on his knees the moment he saw the Durin dwarf. He was still a hundred Orcs' away but that fact didn't discourage him from pummeling dark beasts after another on his path towards the dwarf. But no matter how speed he can gain while fighting; the approaching group of Orcs was nearing Thorin.

"What in Eru's name isn't he moving?" Thranduil bellowed in his mind and after the brief rage for the dwarf's arrogance or rather, ignorance for the upcoming enemies, the uncertainty he felt earlier flooded him tenfold.

Thorin was on his knees as well. His hand was fisted on the hilt of his blood-covered bejeweled axe planted on the ground and he wasn't moving. The elven King still couldn't make out if he even was still breathing for there was a considerable distance between their positions. A sense of dread prickled his skin and he was about to scream for anyone's attention in order to direct aid to the unmoving dwarf but was stunned silent when heavy footfalls vibrated the ground followed by a loud, guttural roar. A giant bear was approaching Thorin fast and the eleven King could not tell if this beast would be the one to give the fallen dwarf the last blow to his death. With a string of the foulest elven curses, he snatched off a bow from a dead soldier's arm and took out a long needle-thin dagger from the folds of his robe. The preparation to shoot the beast only took the fewest of seconds and he was about to release the blade when the bear took on the form of man. The next thing that happened, disbelief was evident on the Elf King's eyes. He now recognized the being and recalled his name as Beorn.

Beorn carefully lifted the form of the injured and barely conscious dwarf and drew him to his chest while snarling and giving blows to the Orcs still daring to do harm. A Warg's jaw eventually caught one of his legs as soon as he was surrounded. Even though the pain was the least of his concerns, with a Warg's jaw attached to him, being slowed down would get Thorin all the more towards danger. Indomitably jostling out of the digging fangs whilst crushing Orc skulls, he finally felt the jaw of the beast slacken and at first thought to have fortunately broken its mouth. But after seeing the glint of a flimsy dagger pierced deep into the Warg's brain, one turn of the head and he knew at once where to head for safety.

The elven King didn't hesitate once he saw that Beorn was struggling out of a beast's jaw. He drew his bow and dagger and shot it with a veteran archer's precision. The blade struck true and Beorn had turned his head in his direction with another goal. It didn't need for Thranduil to know the meaning of the man-beast's gaze upon him. They now had one goal. Clearing his own path from dark creatures as Beorn thundered through the crowd of enemies, their eyes met. There were no words needed as Thranduil protectively wrapped his arms around Thorin's form at the same time Beorn once again took form as a beast. This time he transformed into a giant lion with extended fangs and razor blade claws; unflinchingly slashed and gnawed every dark creature in their path as he carried them on his back.

Thranduil's arms gripping around Thorin almost shook when he heard the dwarf groan in pain. He hasn't heard a single sound nor sensed the smallest of movement from the dwarf. But hearing his agony as he was jostled about while they rode on Beorn, Thranduil never felt the drops of blood from his own mouth as he gritted his teeth.

He was too overwhelmed with the indefinite prospect of saving a dying dwarf that the sight of Erebor's towering gates went past his eyes and only the cry of someone saying,

"The Eagles are here! The Eagles are here!", made him gather his focus on the task at hand.

He saw few of his elf healers and dwarves alike swarming about and attending to the injured ones already transferred in the healing rooms. One elf healer noticed his presence at once and worriedly advanced towards him; unafraid of the beast they alighted from. He hasn't yet completely gone down from Beorn when the healer spoke.

"My King! My name is Belanor. Tell me the severity of your injuries so that I can attend to them as s—" He cut himself short the moment Thranduil turned to face him. There was something grave in the eyes of his king and the healer's gaze immediately settled upon the figure he was carrying on his arms.

One look at the gaping wound and the amount of blood flowing from it, the elf healer blanched in pure horror. It doesn't matter if the person his king was carrying was of dwarven race, it doesn't matter if it was said that they were born from the stone of the mountain in which they also forge weapons and live, it doesn't matter as they are still mortal and with this kind of wound, he could never tell if there will even be a drop of chance for it.

The Elven King was reciting in his mind all the herbs he will be using and the healing chants he should have to perform in order to save Thorin's life. When he properly turned his attention towards the healer to ask him of assistance in getting all the needed items, he couldn't help but feel rage at the sight of Belanor's face.

"You are not entitled to be called yourself a healer if you lose hope even before trying everything that you can do in the direst of situations." Thranduil growled and some of the bustling healers were startled.

Belanor flinched and wasn't able to hide the shock from seeing their usually composed King's demeanor shatter easily at this very moment.

"Fo—forgive me, my King—" Belanor was saying but Thranduil was already naming all the supplies he would need for the cleaning and closing of Thorin's wounds to a dwarven healer.

The elven King followed another healer into the recovery rooms, but he gestured that they go further inside the halls as the process for Thorin's injuries would not have any place for disturbances.

…

The elven King didn't come out of the room they've placed Thorin into even until the day has succumbed to darkness. He didn't even hear the faraway sound of a horn trumpet announcing the victory of men, elves, dwarves, and others who have come to their aid in battle. As when we speak of victory in war, it was always with great loss and ruin as well.

Oin, the dwarf healer he has tasked to attend to him, had done more than assist Thranduil as he struggled to clean and thought all of the ways he could close Thorin's wounds. It also occurred to him in passing, that the elf healer, Belanor, must have chosen to give his support as well in the background for most of the herbs he had asked for were likely available from their camp's stocks.

He had exhausted all of the healing chants he knew of and thankfully, it did work on the dwarf's smaller injuries. It was inevitable that pints of blood were lost and now, the dwarf's complexion alarmingly blended on the newly changed white sheets of the bed he was currently on. Thranduil was still distressed on the fact that the figure on the bed hasn't responded yet after the grueling method he had made him undergo by searing his wounds with hot iron. The smell of burnt flesh should have been nauseating and the fact that an elf such as himself would resort to such rough mending; Thranduil wouldn't do it any other way. –As it is, the only way left. Most of all, he wouldn't just give up.

What he still couldn't get out of his mind was the moment he laid the hot iron on Thorin's wound, the dwarf king cried out as if he could see and feel himself falling into the pit fires of hell. And after that, the deathly silence that followed was grating on the elven King's nerves. By now, all of Thorin's tattered clothes and every piece of metal has been discarded. A flimsy blanket was all that was left from the healer's supplies and it wasn't enough to stop the coldness starting to creep through the vents of the stone windows. Thranduil was a bit relieved when he noticed the dwarf's body giving small trembles. He pulled the blanket higher and realizing of the cape he removed earlier, made a grab for it and gently laid it on Thorin. He wasn't satisfied with the result and began unclasping his remaining armor, which is made of leather then began removing the outer layer of his robes. These were stained with his own blood and that of his enemies but not much so that he found it revolting. He carefully chose the cleaner side to wrap over the dwarf.

A few more hours of watching over the unconscious figure and with Oin's insistence that he attend now to his own injuries [no matter how small they may appear], he ripped off some fabric from the hem of his remaining tunic to prepare as his makeshift bandage. The dwarf healer has also left him with a portion of food to battle with his exhaustion if he really didn't want to leave Thorin's side.

There was a knock on the door and Thranduil almost sighed. If it were Oin once again, he wouldn't be able to help but compare him to a mother hen and announce it out loud.

"Enter." He said instead and continued to work on his own wounds, minimal as they were.

The double doors creaked open and from outside, entered sounds of bustling still looming and echoing all over the halls. He concluded these were the sounds of people moving back and forth from outside the battlefield and then inside the Dwarven Kingdom to help with cleaning up so as to arrange some kind of order. At that thought, he should've felt a bit guilty for not attending to his duties as both Kings of the two races are huddled up in one room. But not an ounce of regret bothered him.

"Father!"

It was Legolas. He looked up and didn't mind the immediate offer of his son to take over tending to his wounds. His gaze shifted lower and it landed on the thirteenth member of Thorin's company. The Hobbit.

"Master Baggins." He acknowledged and was a bit bewildered by the look of shock and utter sorrow on his face.

"I…You—your Highness…" Bilbo stuttered, his words trailing off as soon as his eyes settled upon the figure on the bed. "H—how is…" He could not seem to ask directly and his voice was thick with heavy trepidation.

Thranduil let go of his gaze on the hobbit and fell on Thorin's. Even he can't say for sure if after all his efforts, the dwarf would survive. And a sudden tightening in his own chest gripped him that Legolas thought there was an injury he had missed out.

…

He could not remember how he answered Bilbo's question. He could not even remember if he was able to answer him at all. All he could feel now, as he was once again left alone in the room with Thorin and the night was so dark there were no stars to give comfort to his thoughts, was the heavy pouring of loss, regret, uncertainty and dread. Was he too late to have changed the events that happened? Will it be too late to uphold his promise? Has the gods above rewritten the prophecy for a chance of hopes and love—that it was suddenly reformed? Thranduil didn't have the ability to know. All he can do is wait for Thorin to wake up and fulfill the promise that was long overdue.

He silently stood up from the chair he was sitting on and carefully fitted his limbs over the remaining space beside Thorin's figure. He didn't disturb the blankets draped over the dwarf, as Thranduil wouldn't much notice the cold due to the tremendous emotions boiling his skin. With graceful maneuvering, his arms were now softly caressing the unmoving figure. Fingers threading through dark silken locks and a soft kiss placed on Thorin's forehead, Thranduil began singing of the promise he made more than a hundred years ago.

The elf King remained awake and the tears flowing from his eyes were the only ones shining amidst all the darkness.

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><p><strong>Hi again everyone! I hope I didn't bore you to death with the chapter one of my story. I am planning to keep this story short, about five chapters only. I hope you like it! And there might just be "shocking" developments I am also forming to put in here.<strong>

**By the way! CREDITS to the uploader of the image I used as my "book cover!" Just googled it so am not sure who exactly uploaded this picture. :)**

**Reviews are fuel to the mind! Thanks! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you like this! Comments/reviews will be appreciated but please be mindful of the warnings! [If I have mentioned any before every chapter] **

…

**Disclaimer: **_**I wish I could build a universe as great as Tolkien's creation. Still, fan fiction is the next best thing. **_

**Pairing: ****Thranduil**[Elven King of Mirkwood]** and ****Thorin **

**Genre: Romance, Angst, Friendship**

**Warnings: Drama, Slash. **

…

**Summary: **It was a long ago promise made by the kings. Not only of alliance but also of union. And with that, comes a sacred blessing. However, as tragedy descended upon kingdoms and trust ripped apart, how will two races become one again?

Thorin has lost his home and had lived in exile. With encouraging words from a wizard whose wisdom he has once believed in, he set out to a journey to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. When Thranduil saw the exiled prince of Erebor step foot in his Forest, he knew at once how the gravity of the events to follow would impact their lives.

* * *

><p><strong>.….. xXOOOXx ….<strong>

**Title:**

**BEYOND REALMS AND KINGDOMS**

**.….. xXOOOXx ….**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER TWO<strong>

* * *

><p>He was drifting between something akin to consciousness and sleep. Or maybe it was just the mysterious back and forth wandering through loopholes in the world of the living and the dead. Explanations of such weren't necessary though, as he can feel it so sure within his bones that he was already travelling towards the home of Mahal. Whether he deserved to be embraced by their All Father, it only ever falls upon wishful thinking. He could care less, for a man who has already lost his life will no longer have any chance to prove his worth.<p>

Other things were suddenly appearing in his vision and they were flashing beneath his eyelids in vivid detail. It may be the memories of his agony before his gruesome fall on the battlefield. It may be the guilt he had felt once he realized how once again wrong he had been when he unthinkingly casted out their Halfling companion. It may be that pride of his that he could never let go as if it was the very stone their mountain was made of—unbreakable and yet filled with darkness despite all the sparkling jewels graced on its walls. This realization gnawed at his very core. It hurt. It hurts still how clear he could feel the pain clinging on his veins, gripping it and choking what little blood was left. And yet at the back of his mind, he found that this might be the most fitting punishment he should receive. He, who was briefly King Under the Mountain, was an exile of his own definition of oblivion.

…

_Oh gods of the old and new. Oh Fathers of lands so green and of seas so blue. Reveal to me the power of faith. Bring forth to me strength so great. Thus I can change a fate so grim. And finally, be able to hold_…A'maelamin.

For some reason, he knew that he was struggling to open his eyes. But for what exact purpose, he hasn't a single inkling. There was a voice he could hear so close to him and yet it felt miles away at the same time. It reached his ears like the caress of a warm whisper—dancing with a melody and repeating like a rhythm. It was almost like a chant as the words echoed over and over, trailing every crevice of his heart and mind.

Finally, some form of strength entered within him and his eyes were granted access to the world beyond the darkness. Dim light that seemed to throw flickering orange splatters was what first registered in the haziness of his vision. He was a bit frustrated at the fact that he could not make his body move in order to see more of what was surrounding him. As sure as he was that he's nothing but a drifting soul, it doesn't temper the addled curiosity of his mind. He has this urge to at least further explore what went beyond the after life. Furthermore, he was anxious to find out if he was going to see his father or grandfather in the home of Mahal; or would his soul be reunited with his brother. As if on cue, these hopes were shattered for the flickering light instead gave way to pick up the scattered pieces of his shallow consciousness. His eyes slowly moved around to somehow realize that he was surrounded by stonewalls with grand tapestries he can tell symbolized various parts of history which led to his conclusion that he was in a room. There were no other objects to notice and this doesn't exactly provide him an idea if this room was already within the halls of Mahal's home. Why would there even be need for rooms if souls can all but roam around through the endless halls and corridors? He moved on but nothing else caught his attention.

The heaviness of his eyelids was creeping back again and he thought that maybe it was due to the chants he'd been hearing in the background throughout his moment of consciousness. And then there was a strong inclination to know whom that voice belonged to. He moved his eyes back from the beginning of its travel and it landed upon a memorable figure.

Every single element that threatened to distort the sole person who was with him in the room didn't win against the light of familiarity. Even with his addled mind, he knew at once to whom that crown belonged to; those antler-shaped gold adorned fittingly by the sides of his head unmistakably pronounced his status as the Elven King of Mirkwood. He couldn't deny telling himself that he was the last person he was expecting to be at his side. The Elf King didn't seem to notice his awareness and was still silently reciting the same words he had been listening to but couldn't quite understand. If his losing consciousness has already begun seeping all of his efforts to stay further awake, he would not have enough time to discern why a beautiful being such as this proud Elf King, would shed his glamour and be at ease with letting the ghastly battle scars, the blinded eye and damage on his face present itself to the world.

It might be possible that the Elf King must have reached the end of his life as well in the battle. But to see the presence of his soul beside him, Mahal must be mocking the arrogant dwarf King even in death.

Before everything returned to blackness, two sets of blue gazes met.

…

"Thorin!" Thranduil whispered, irritated that were it not for his frantic prayers, he would have immediately noticed that the dwarf was finally making a response. Within the snap of awareness, the little energy he saved from shedding his glamour almost drained in an instant. He rubbed the lids of his eyes in an attempt to relieve some of his stress.

Gently, he placed a palm on the dwarf's forehead and was greatly relieved that by the temperature of the dwarf's skin, it was a sign that the fever will no longer impend to start another bout. He carefully slid one of his hands inside the tunic he had wrapped around Thorin and slowly lifted up the bandages to check the dwarf's wounds. The burned flesh were not a horrible sight as it were on the first through the third day. It has begun healing nicely, to the point that scars would be least of their concerns, when Thranduil determinedly pursued with his healing spells and had gotten his hands on more herbs and salves replenished by the healers who travelled back from his forest. Within a moment's consideration, he decided it was time to change the dressings along with reapplying the medicines.

…

It has been five days since the battle was concluded. Five days he witnessed Thorin's terrifying stillness with only the violent fluttering of his eyelids giving away his struggles to fight his nightmares, his pain, and the infections trying to wound their way further through the dwarf's bloodstream. Five days that he remained in the same room and almost in the same spot, never leaving Thorin's side unless it was of utmost importance that he attend to his own people. Fortunately, Legolas has read through his actions that it was his duty to take over the needs of their people and has left him with his personal concerns within the walls of this room.

Every single day he received his portion of daily meals but the painful knot in his stomach has not had the luxury of participating in accepting them. He was thankful for it, as hunger doesn't really bother him compared to the uncertain coil of anxiousness acting like acid in his insides.

"_Astalder_…when will you grace me with that fierce look of yours?" Thranduil whispered as he leant down towards the face of the sleeping dwarf. The brief meeting of their eyes earlier was not enough. It didn't even last a second. But there was something he was able to read in that short contact. There was a hint of confusion and mild surprise in the weary, blue gaze Thorin gave him.

_Oh my valiant one…let me see those beautiful blues come to life again. Let not my touch linger without so much as a hitch of breath from your lips. _

Thranduil was speaking in his native language, pouring out endearments and pleas with words so smooth it slid from his lips like the embrace of his silken tunic gliding over the dwarf's blankets as he further leaned forward. He couldn't help the desire to run his lips over Thorin's rose red ones—endlessly grateful that the color returned in the days he had painstakingly guided the dwarf's unmoving body to accept supplements for his recovery. Unwaveringly, he caught those lips and caressed them with his own among the intent to warm and feel Thorin's breath whispering on his skin. The kiss was gentle; almost a brush between two lips, but there was just the right pressure to feel the softness of Thorin's mouth on his own ones. He wasn't supposed to sense guilt slightly pricking him when this act wasn't forbidden. But somehow, at the back of his mind it was, because the being he had longed for hasn't yet found his consciousness to respond.

A barely audible creak from the door opening made him still his progress. Sharp eyes suddenly pinned a pair of very similar ones.

"I did not mean to intrude." Legolas informed him once he had silently entered the room and stood in his full height. Surely, he wasn't about to reveal his nightly routine of trying to "sneak" up on his father in order to make sure he hasn't yet stolen the dwarven prince away from his own kingdom and bring him to whatever holy land the Elven King deemed an appropriate place for his full recuperation. However, as he stepped one foot forward, the king tilted his head in a way of telling him he knew.

"It's been five days." Legolas halted by the foot of Thorin's bed, waiting for the other person in the room to react on his statement. When not so much as a sound came from his father, he drawled.

"You are aware that there are cases wherein the body recuperates but the mind does n—"

"They are like the color of _Aman_'s vast sea." Thranduil's voice cut through Legolas' words and his deep tone was more than enough to loom all over the chamber.

Confusion crossed the Elven prince's features for a moment before comprehension took over. As if a question and the need for an explanation were written on his face, the king carried on with his words.

"I have seen it in a dream once and the image was instantly engraved in my mind." This answered Legolas' wonder as to how his father has visited the Undying Lands when an elf, that hasn't yet decided the future of his fate, will never be allowed even a glimpse of the place.

"Never was I given a chance to take notice, that what I admired the most in that image, I have beheld almost two centuries ago." There was regret and longing in the depths of his father's eyes and it was painful to watch for the prince had not seen that haunted look after a hundred years.

"How long was he awake?" Legolas asked, unsure if his conclusion based on his father's musings was true.

"No longer than a second."—Was the brief reply.

The prince nearly deflated in disappointment but he stood his ground. When his eyes met with his father's, he wanted to avoid the intensity of his unspoken query. With a suppressed sigh, he told Thranduil of the most current affairs going on in the Dwarven Kingdom.

"The dwarves have yet to form an official council in the name of their king. But as of now, I presume that the dwarf king's company is seriously deliberating your proposition, as they stand closest to him and will take heed of his feelings with regards to the appropriate decision. Even Dáin of the Iron Hills has been included in the discussion."

A small tilt of the head from Thranduil urged Legolas to elaborate further.

"Balin, as the King's advisor, informed me to expect their reply in the morrow afternoon. That is all."

…

The room was filled with tension. Silence grating the nerves of each dwarf, trying their very best not to once again start and end this meeting into one hell of a chaos. Three times they've discussed the Elven King's proposal—the so-called contract of union from the time of Thror's ruling when the former king was still clear of the gold sickness. Of course, the very first time Thranduil had mentioned this piece of crucial information, the dwarves who made up the temporary council in the name of their King, had not accepted the unbelievable terms that came together with the proposal of alliance. It wasn't only for the fact that the contract spoke of a simple alliance of arms and trade between two kingdoms, but it was the very idea of union through marriage between two races.

Surely they would've trashed the mention of this plan in its ruins the first time it slipped off the Elven King's lips for the dwarves and elves knew in their hearts what caused the wreckage of relationship between two races more than a hundred years ago. They didn't expect though, the power of the written promise of coalition undoubtedly signed by the two kings, the leather casing of the scroll having been engraved with both the kingdoms' crests to further solidify its cogency. And not to mention, that Balin had been one of the chosen witnesses when this contract was sealed.

Balin's sigh should have sounded almost inaudible but it seemed to echo all around the room for no one dared to utter a single noise. He sighed again, this time with more purpose and he looked at each and every dwarf attending this meeting. His eyes met with Dain's before lingering for a few seconds longer on the confusing expression marring their hobbit companion's face. It pulled a dismayed reaction from him, as he could not understand why there was such sorrow, disappointment, and turmoil mixing within Bilbo's eyes.

"I have received report from the elf prince that Thorin has briefly gained consciousness."

There was immediate uproar of reactions from the dwarves. Fili had directly pinned him with wide eyes while his younger brother, Kili, had taken this opportunity to voice out his own opinion in the matter.

"Balin, this is the perfect opportunity for us to end this wretched discussion. We need only wait for Uncle's own thoughts regarding this matter rather than accepting the Elf King's proposal with only our unfounded beliefs!"

Balin had thought something similar of what Kili has just suggested. He had thought of it the moment he considered the consequences of what may happen once Thorin has gained consciousness. He was sure that the king would instantly feel betrayed. What stopped him short of this choice was the valid statement Thranduil himself had pointed out when he attempted to discuss the change of terms in the contract the second night he encouraged himself to visit Thranduil in Thorin's temporary healing chamber. And the very proof that he knew deep in his heart that he will never have the power to tweak even a single word written in the scroll.

"I have done and followed every term in this contract. You, yourself, have been a witness in the forging of this alliance. We are not only ensuing the rules as such is the custom, but also that this is a written oath of promise from our gods. Remember that in the battle more than a hundred years old, it was not in my power to impede the existence of Smaug. Smaug was a sign. You should know it."

Balin remembered the Elf King's words all too clearly. Despite that, no matter how much he dug in his memories, there was nothing that explained the two battles to have occurred before the fulfillment of this particular contract or if it was still meant to be accomplished. There had already been too many pains, loss, and several years of struggling and for hatred to grow for something as alliance to be brought up between the dwarves and elves once again.

"It is not that simple, laddie." He told Kili and the young prince's features contorted in annoyance.

"As I have said, Thorin has indeed gained consciousness but it is still uncertain when he will actually be awake and have strength for such concerns."

"I'm sure once Uncle awakens, no matter how weak he'll still be, he would not hesitate turning down the Elf King's proposition. It's been a hundred years! You said so yourself. And Uncle is no longer merely an exiled heir to the throne of Durin. He will now have the power to change the ter—"

Two heavy fists rattled every corner of the stone table as they fell down hard on the surface, cutting off Kili's words. The vibrating carried on, but it wasn't only the impact on the table for the owner of those fists was trembling. Nobody could tell if it was due to anger or frustration but it was mostly likely both because Dwalin's face was red with uncontrolled emotion.

"As Balin said, it is not that simple." The warrior dwarf's voice was coarse and deep but it sounded small and almost defeated. It was a moment very rare in Dwalin's life.

Now everyone turned expecting looks toward Balin and the intensity of their gazes, even including the hobbit, made the scholar dwarf almost cower. Pulling another deep breath in his lungs, he revealed to them all the terms of the contract. They all listened, nobody ever attempting to interrupt Balin's words. Although, the fleeting changes of reactions gracing their faces didn't pass without him noticing.

"Thorin is indeed the King Under the Mountain. Though, his coronation will not happen and his ruling will not be proclaimed final if he doesn't give his hand to marriage with the Elven King. This is the ultimate term. You must also remember that there were Elf dignitaries as witnesses of this contract. They are to be convinced as well of the fulfillment of the contract. And as you can tell, I am the only one left in the side of dwarves as a witness. Compared to the influence they hold, I don't have basis to have the power to alter the terms." Balin paused, as the words that poured out of his mouth didn't leave him feeling lighter but possibly even more burdened.

"If Thorin was the one promised in the sealing of this alliance, surely he must be aware of his role." It was Dain who has spoken and some of the other dwarves nodded about this possibility. The prospect of knowing that Thorin might accept the marriage proposal with his knowledge of his part in the contract, will of course give the dwarves decision to welcome the idea of accepting the terms.

"Thorin has been enveloped with grief and betrayal. You all know of his hatred of elves. The reason to it is not groundless." Dwalin prepared to pick up his weapons lying on the sides of his seat. "However, I know that he is aware of this century old promise of alliance." He straightened up and hooked his weapons on the belt straps on his back. "But you should learn that when a dwarf chooses to forget, he would." He paused and looked at the center of their meeting table. His gaze travelled over to his own corner and noticed the small cracks his fists created earlier. It was no doubt that bruises were already forming on the sides of his hands as it began throbbing the moment he reached for his weapons. Throwing a meaningful glance towards his brother, he spoke again. This time his voice went deeper and his face looked pained in its very subtle manner.

"Thorin did." Dwalin left the room and the implications of his last two words lay heavily in the hearts of the dwarves and hobbit.

…

One knock was only needed when the deep voice of the Elf King called out to allow his entrance. The white haired dwarf bowed in respect as soon as he was inside and the knowing look he received meant that Thranduil had been waiting for his arrival. It has been for several days and Legolas made sure that they were always updated with regards to their discussion of his king's proposal, at the same time bringing news of Thorin's most current condition to their council.

Balin casted his look upon his king's sleeping figure on the new bed Thranduil have asked to be brought all the way from Mirkwood. The furniture was of a very fine quality of wood, carved with the most intricate of designs inspired of course by the wilderness only the great woodland could offer in all of Middle Earth. The precious stones adorned on the sides of the bed he could easily recognize, for the possibility that those jewels may have come from past trades mined from their very own mountain. The draperies and cushions surrounding his king also came from the Elven King's palace for they were colors that commonly elves prefer—gold and emerald thread patterns on red silk, velvet trimmings, and more woodland elements as the main theme of the images scattered all over the fabric. Even Thorin's simple white robes had now been supplanted with elegant cream-colored wool so as to keep his temperature cool and the touch on his wounded skin comfortable. Obviously, everything was of elven brand.

The Elf King has indeed shown his boldness with his actions, unopposed and firm every which way.

"I see you have taken liberty of transforming this room, Your Highness." Balin commented at last for his eyes have noticeably travelled on each modification the place has undergone. Not to mention, the obvious use of the Elf King's power so much so that he dressed Thorin with the very clothes he has chosen by himself.

Every dwarf know that they do not let themselves be dressed with anything other than their own make without a willing consent.

"Naturally. I only see fit that Thorin will wake up surrounded by finery worthy of a King." Thranduil met the dwarf scholar's eyes with his piercing blue ones. He knew the look of small annoyance glinting within those darker orbs. He spoke again in compensation for the unpremeditated image of dominance the other dwarf must have read from his actions.

"It is not my intention to offend you, Master Dwarf. Certainly you are aware that this is not the very first time I have gifted and clothed Thorin with our finery."

Balin was a bit surprised. He may have forgotten some things before the attack of Smaug all those years ago due to his own grief and bitterness and this detail in his King's life was now beginning to creep back in his memory unbidden.

"Aye, I remember." The dwarf's shoulders sagged for a moment but it was not because he felt defeated. Thranduil knew that it was exhaustion he can see molding on Balin's features, showing him the years of trying to sort every dark creases in the state of their kingdom. This role he knew for it was a very strenuous role. To always have to stay calm amidst the chaos, to have the presence of mind when every other member of the house has gone beyond reason, and to be the voice of reason himself without prejudice.

"There is only one purpose as to why I have come to speak with you, Your Highness." This time, Balin straightened up. His face was now wiped of every worry or uncertainty and his tone had cleared up in order to deliver the decision of the whole council with his next words.

"The council has accepted your proposal. We will not oppose the alliance through marriage between our races. We will tell Thorin of your proposal and explain to him the terms. However, as our King has yet to gain consciousness, we will not be responsible for the actions you are going to make in order to convince him yourself."

Thranduil nodded politely in acceptance of this decision.

"In addition, you must remember something, Your Highness. A century may only be a blink of an eye for elves, but for us mortal dwarves, it is a very long time. And for matters that have pained us greatly, we burry them until they're forgotten." Balin didn't wait for any reaction from the Elf King and merely bowed before making an exit from the room. Within the deafening silence that followed, the soft closing click of the door sounded like a hammer that has fallen on the ground. And Thranduil was left to hear the echoes of it.

…

Ever since the day Thorin had showed the small sign of coming to consciousness, seven more days have passed when the Durin King have finally opened his eyes to full awareness. Many things have flickered in the realm of his subconscious while he was asleep and with the blurred lucidity of his senses, he couldn't yet seem to grasp his hold onto reality. There were too many sounds that came to him but the main thing was that there was no sound at all. The silence currently surrounding him was too much; it reached the point where the simplest noise of fabric brushing the ground took hold of his attention.

Thorin's fingers twitched at his command and slowly but carefully, he moved them over the nearest object he could reach. He fisted the blankets that engulfed him and rolled the fabric with his fingers to have a feel of the soft, light quilt. It was an unusual quality from what he knew he was used to but then allowed his mind to immensely agree for the comfort it provided. A single moment of watching his hands work as he felt in himself that his whole body had been stagnant—probably for days, his mind or memory couldn't exactly tell—made him glance at the striking color wrapped loosely around his arms that maybe even extended on his whole form.

The fabric was silk and it proudly shimmered with its crimson radiance by the light coming from the windows.

Thorin grunted. This wasn't his color. He should be wearing his royal blues adorned with silver and sapphire beads on the linings. This color was meant for his younger sister Dís or for any women who's a member of the Durin line. And even then, this shade of red was overwhelmingly bright and disputably arcane in hue.

His eyes began to travel on the patterns of his shirt cuffs and realized the intricate swirls were images of vines and leaves flowing over the golden river sash like elegant fingers. The evidence of these completely "un-dwarven" designs triggered a reminder of the past he has strived to burry in the deepest depths of his mind. There were no clear visions of that past. His thoughts could only tell him they were unwanted footprints in his memories.

It was then he heard a voice, followed by a choked gasp.

Thorin could only grace his panic-stricken visitor with a blink before there were light footfalls immediately approaching one side of his bed. A gentle dip moved some of his blankets and slightly hesitant palms touched his cheeks. The dwarf king could not find the right reaction when a burst of tears flowed heavily from those emerald eyes.

"Bilbo…" He croaked and was surprised how broken his voice sounded. It was as if his throat had closed off and was only now allowing him again to produce words.

Simply hearing his name called, the hobbit no longer cared about whatever consequences he might receive by the time he had his arms wounded around the dwarf's shoulders, tightening a bit in his desperation to feel him breathing and to feel his heart beating normally. Thorin was a bit surprised that he felt no ache from his injuries when the hobbit all but lunged himself over him, nor were there lingering soreness on any part of his body.

Bilbo sobbed as he buried his nose in the silken locks of the dwarf king.

It was real!

Thorin has finally woken!

He was so relieved and happy that the instant feeling of uncertainty was threatening to creep in his veins by the event that was to come afterwards.

And it was suddenly painful, so very painful to see him conscious again and yet the presence of distance knocking at the back of his emotions kept coming inevitably stronger. It wasn't about the rift that has gotten between them before the war. It weren't the times he felt small and mocked while they were still in the journey. It was the impending future the rightful king in front of him has to go through that was breaking his heart.

"I thought…the time—" Thorin paused and cleared his throat. "—that when you forgave me…it was all but a dream."

Bilbo could only wave his head violently; both for the absurdity of Thorin's statement and the fact of how pathetic he must seem to be, crying so hard like a child. He leaned down again and pressed a kiss on the king's forehead. He wiped his own tears as he straightened up and gave Thorin a shaking smile full of relief and affection. For all the times he had imagined the day Thorin would wake up, there were so many words he planned to say. Yet now as he looked at the king's face, he was speechless—in awe of the beautiful creature who now had his eyes open, truly alive.

He couldn't say anything. Not yet. His heart was too much of a coward to let this moment go. He felt selfish and told himself this selfishness might be the bravest thing he could commit himself to.

…

The news of the Durin King's awakening have massively swarmed all over the kingdom and even reached the ears of the men in Dale. Thorin was reasonably overcome with affections he received from each dwarf in his company especially from his nephews, Fili and Kili. They don't usually expose their love for their kin so openly and with one look at their unguarded expressions, spoke volumes of how much they had been worried. Thorin was elated that despite his strict demeanor towards his companions, he was still loved and respected. He, in turn, had never felt so relieved to see his company complete and whole.

For the following days, they have feasted their reunion together with Dain's soldiers after Thorin had the knowledge that no celebration has graced their halls yet since the king, who has reclaimed their kingdom, hasn't woken up. Bard, together with his own people, had also been invited to stay for two days to join their feast. The promised gold for their assistance in battle as well as the rights to be passed onto Bard's care for the town of Men has already been granted three days after settling the fallen of the war. Balin has informed Thorin afterwards that he has sent crows to the Blue Mountains for Dís to start leading the other dwarrow clans back to the Lonely Mountain and with the Durin princess' reply telling them they were to expected to arrive after five months or less. It's a long journey, but the length of time waiting could never be parallel to the happiness they would have once dwarves settle back in their kingdom—their true home.

…

They were discussing the rebuilding of the destroyed parts of the mountain when an owl gently descended upon the stone ledge of the window in the council room. The size of the owl was evidently larger than that of the average and it wore a leather chest plate with the Mirkwood crest embossed on the material. Clutched carefully in its huge beak was a scroll encased in coiled vines.

Balin immediately recognized the crest and stood abruptly from his seat to receive the scroll. He remained by the side of the owl and read the contents of the letter. The others on the council made no move and only stared at Balin in anticipation. After the last word passed the old dwarf's eyes, he looked up to search for the only hobbit member of their company, who he was aware had not been attending their meetings, and closed his eyes in annoyance.

In the sudden silence, Thorin decided to look up from the original drafts of their kingdom he had been comparing with the new architectural adjustments added to the other outline. He was confused for a moment and then his eyes caught the owl currently perched patiently on the windowsill. Same with Balin, one glance at the symbol on the bird's chest plate and he knew at once where the letter came from. He opened his mouth to ask about the letter's contents; anxious as to why every dwarf in the room was being this silent. Before he could utter a word, Balin had already made it out of the room. When he turned his attention to the others, they had all made their excuse and was making exit from the room as well.

Only Fili has stopped for a moment to add words to his excuse.

"We'll see you at dinner, uncle." He gave his uncle a tilt of his head and went out.

…

Bilbo was sitting on the wide-open crevice of a room located at the left wing of the castle. This was one of the rooms that still haven't been touched with repairs and plenty of broken boulders and stonewalls have yet to be erected from their positions on the cracked grounds. Despite the distressing remnants of Smaug's destruction, the hobbit has chosen this spot for it gave him the breathtaking view of the kingdom below and a sight of Dale, furthermore to the vast expanse of the great Woodland. His eyes stayed gazing at the trees and other kinds of greens proudly fencing the kingdom of the great Elf King, Thranduil. His brows twitched and the view suddenly posed a sad reminder. A curse came out of his mouth unbidden and he bit his tongue for it.

He still couldn't do it. It had been more than two weeks now since Thorin has gained consciousness and he hasn't had the heart to speak to the dwarven king with regards to the reason as to why Balin had to keep postponing the official announcement of his coronation. He reached his hand inside his coat pocket for the parchment and read its contents for the umpteenth time. It was the letter from Thranduil he had gotten four days after words of Thorin's consciousness had been announced. The letter was unhesitant and to the point:

"_To the Honorable Council of Thorin II Durin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror,_

_I regret that I was not around by the time the Crown Prince has finally woken. I humbly ask if you have carried the end of your bargain in informing him of my proposal of alliance and your acceptance of said contract and its terms included. _

_I have planned to visit with my officials and own council after a week to proceed with my formal offering of hand in marriage. You need not worry about any preparations, as it is my duty to get everything in order for this union._

_I will be expecting a response._

_Yours,_

_Thranduil Oropherion, King of Mirkwood."_

Bilbo had once been tempted to crumple this particular letter when his raging Took side almost got out of control, only to be placated nearly too late by his Baggins blood and the awful reality of this so called proposal. He'd been holding onto this without speaking about it with Balin as he had strictly requested of him to be informed at once when a word gets sent from Mirkwood. And he felt odd and cruel in a way for he knew that keeping this might only jeopardize what the old dwarf have been trying to keep pacified. But Dwalin's firm rejection of the possibility of this union, as well as the decision that he couldn't allow for Thorin to be permanently bonded with the Elf backed his decision to keep quiet for a while longer. Nevertheless, the days of waiting for their king to wake up and knowing that something like this long ago promise should impede with Thorin's main purpose of surviving, undoubtedly broke down even Fili and Kili's resolve.

But the nerve! Bilbo pressed his lower lip with his teeth.

_Why does this elf king easily address Thorin as if he is nothing more than a child to him? He is undeniably centuries older than the dwarf king and Thorin must have been named and called "Crown Prince" when they have first met but he is King now!—Definitely the 'King Under The Mountain' as he had rightfully reclaimed his homeland._

_This boldness is really making him irritated. King or no, Immortal or no, he should give respect towards the dwarf king considering he had caused the reason himself for Thorin to hate him. _

In his deep musing, he didn't have the chance to notice the figure already staring at the letter loosely clasped within his fingers. The paper was snatched from him on the next second and a heavy thump beside him gave caution as to whose fingers were now gripping the letter. There was silence first as he waited Dwalin to finish what was written on the scroll and didn't even think about how the warrior dwarf would pummel him for keeping this for days from the whole council.

The sound of the parchment being crumpled pulled his attention and he gawked at Dwalin with wide eyes. A low rumble came as the warrior let out a sigh. His thick brows were pulled taut and Bilbo knew for sure that he, too, must have found the Elf King's way of addressing Thorin a kick to his dignity as if he himself was being mocked. The next expression that formed on his features though, confused the hobbit immensely. The dwarf looked resigned.

"You shouldn't have kept this from us. It seems you received this several days ago." Dwalin was waving his head; further pointing out in this gesture that Bilbo didn't make a wise decision.

The hobbit, in turn, couldn't find an excuse, as he would only sound selfish. And didn't he say that he wouldn't care if his actions right now were selfish?

"Thranduil sent another letter while we were in the middle of discussing the construction of the kingdom."

"Wha—What?" Bilbo sounded a bit panicked but he tried to cover it with a cough.

"The bird must have received a spell from the elf himself to ensure that he will be able to track the presence of the king whilst it calls for attention from one of the council."

At this moment, Dwalin turned to look directly at Bilbo.

"Two days from now, he will make an official presence in Erebor to ask Thorin for his hand."

"Two days!" Now Bilbo made no attempt to hide his panic. "I—I haven't…I never mentioned…any—anything t-t—to Thorin yet." Sweat formed on his temples and although Dwalin was a bit disappointed for the moment towards their hobbit, he didn't have the heart to scare him more than he seemed to be.

"Nothing can be done about that now, lad. You'll have to tell Thorin right after dinner." Bilbo turned to him so fast, he thought he received a whiplash out of nowhere.

…

The hobbit dreaded every step he took as he followed Thorin towards his chambers. He still cursed his very own being after the embarrassing ear-grating high-pitched request for the dwarf king's private audience. He could clearly remember the dwarf taken aback by this rather alarming announcement at dinner and could only give a brief nod in return before hearing the screech Bilbo's seat made when he all but tumbled back down. It was only Kili who took pity on him and silently passed him a big mug of ale to decrease the jumping of his nerves.

Familiar with the royal halls they have now entered, Thorin stopped fleetingly in front of his door before pushing it wide open. There was no need for him to gesture for Bilbo to come inside as the hobbit welcomed his own person into the room and already made comfort with one of his armchairs near the hearth. Thorin couldn't deny the surprise, as their hobbit never showed him this kind of boldness before. It was also the very first time the Halfling had requested a private audience with him. He closed the door gently and padded towards the other armchair near Bilbo.

Silence dragged between them and Thorin was starting to feel a bit uneasy with this mysterious behavior Bilbo was showing.

"Bilbo…" He began only to be cut short by the sharp emerald eyes that were now looking straight at him.

The Halfling sat so still as he stared at him.

Although Thorin had experienced being gaped at like one of the piles of gold displayed in their treasury countless times, he didn't know how to respond to this intense scrutiny Bilbo was throwing at him.

"I'm sorry…Thorin." The hobbit said softly, almost like a whisper and Thorin had to strain his ears to hear it.

"For what, Bilbo? I'm afraid I do not understand this behavior of yours."

"I…" Bilbo filled his lungs as he inhaled and released a quivering sigh. "I have been tasked to be the one to inform you about King Thranduil's proposal." He finished with a choke as if the words he had released took hold of his remaining breath.

Thorin recalled the owl that delivered a scroll Balin received earlier in the afternoon. He was meaning to ask about it but the sudden decision of his whole council to retire to their 'other' duties didn't give him a chance. He had forgotten to ask again while at dinner, too busy tending to other concerns of his kingdom he had missed while he was still unconscious.

If this 'proposal' will all be about renewing the contract about trade and arms, then surely Balin would take care of that. He could no longer afford to deny once again the need of support from the elves while their kingdom was still vulnerable as it is only beginning with its revival. And also, several dwarf soldiers have given him the information that it had been Thranduil who had tended to his injuries even before the battle had ended. Not that he would let himself feel like he owed something great to Thranduil but it seemed that with this knowledge, the Elf King gained respect from some of the dwarves. This fact couldn't merely be ignored for the sake of his own prejudice.

"—in marriage…"

Thorin must have drifted while the halfling was still speaking for Bilbo's words didn't get to reach his ears. The other noticed this and with more determined eyes and louder voice, the hobbit repeated to the dwarf king what Dwalin has spoken with him earlier.

"To fulfill the contract that have been forged by your grandfather and the Elf King more than a century ago—Two days from now, King Thranduil, with his council and officials, will make an official appearance to ask your hand in marriage."

As soon as the meaning of the words Bilbo said to him finally registered in his mind, no matter how hard he had tried and wished to sojourn this day until the end of his life, the century old memory he had painstakingly suppressed for several years broke down the barriers to his past.

He knew about this contract. He should have forgotten about this for the years of hatred he harbored towards the elves for leaving them in the ruins Smaug has caused and brought forth their exile. He has forgotten about it and yet, his efforts have finally failed him in the end.

NO.

No. He can't accept this. He will not accept this vile proposal. After all the events he and his people had to go through? This contract should have been burned along with the terrible destruction he had witnessed of his kingdom.

"The whole council has accepted this proposal, together with its terms."

Thorin abruptly stood up by this statement, disbelief clear in his eyes.

Bilbo should have been prepared for the look of utter betrayal written on the dwarf king's face as he declared the agreement of all the council members regarding the contract of union by marriage between the two races. He should've known this would be Thorin's reaction about their decision. Everyone knew in their hearts that Thorin would be devastatingly disappointed with all of them. But this look that Thorin was giving him now was full of helplessness and he couldn't, in his power, wipe it away.

Bilbo could only bury his face in his hands as Thorin stormed out of his own chambers.

…

Was he selfish? Both his Baggins and Took blood didn't have an answer for him.

He couldn't put all the blame to himself, though. The whole council decided it. It was King Thror and King Thranduil who made this contract in exchange for Thorin's freedom to rule a kingdom that was supposed to be rightfully his.

Bilbo cried in his palms, pretending that with his tears, something would hopefully change the fate of his dear friend. An unknown voice screamed in his thoughts when he suddenly felt his fingers already clutching the golden ring he had found at the Goblin's lair.

_It is the world that is selfish…_

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><p><strong><em>And so it ends there for now. :)<em>**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope you like this! Comments/reviews will be appreciated but please be mindful of the warnings! [If I have mentioned any before every chapter] **

…

**Disclaimer: **_**I wish I could build a universe as great as Tolkien's creation. Still, fan fiction is the next best thing. **_

**Pairing: ****Thranduil**[Elven King of Mirkwood]** and ****Thorin **

**Genre: Romance, Angst, and Friendship**

**Warnings: Drama, Slash, Forced Marriage, Rape/Non-Con elements. **

…

**Chapter Summary: **Thorin had dreaded this day to come ever since Smaug took Erebor from his people. He didn't even expect for the Elven King to carry on with this contract his grandfather himself have offered to Thranduil; knowing how grave the rift between their people have brewed for years in exile.

And now, there was no other way to get out of this god-forsaken promise of union.

* * *

><p><strong>.….. xXOOOXx ….<strong>

**Title:**

**BEYOND REALMS AND KINGDOMS**

**.….. xXOOOXx ….**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER THREE<strong>

* * *

><p>Balin was reading another letter an owl dropped off directly to his hands when he passed by the hallway to his quarters. The owl was a different one and its simpler insignia wounded around its other leg told Balin that the sender must have delivered this letter in secret. He was surprised receiving a second letter so soon when he hasn't even started a reply to the previous one that arrived early this afternoon during the council meeting. There was no wonder in his expression though, when he read that the scroll was addressed to him specifically. The advisor sighed and sat boneless on his armchair by the fireplace as soon as he finished reading the last words written on the parchment. A headache began its vicious attack on his head as guilt gnawed at him.<p>

The frame of his room's entrance almost rattled off the stonewall by the fists banging on his door and Balin shot up from his chair as if the cushion burned him. The night was no longer young, considering the whole company have gone down to eat dinner later than usual and most definitely it wouldn't be Dwalin for his brother was feeling like he just committed treason against their King when he mentioned that he had threatened Bilbo to speak of the proposal with Thorin before more chaos could erupt by the time the Elven King has arrived in their halls.

There could only be one person on the other side of his door and he contemplated whether staying calm and oblivious would save him from the onslaught of accusations that he was about to absorb. Another hard thud on the door and he slid the letter carefully within his inner robes before moving to let the man enter his room. A cold expression and barely concealed look of hurt greeted him as soon as his eyes met the piercing blues of the Crown Prince. Nevertheless, it didn't stop him from interrupting the words Thorin were about to growl right on his face.

"I assume Master Baggins has delivered the news about King Thranduil's arrival." Balin said, almost casually. He didn't wait for any reaction and strode towards his desk to grab the large wine decanter before expertly pouring a generous amount of the alcohol into two gold goblets. The advisor almost hesitated approaching the still form of Thorin staring at him blankly; seething and anger seemed to have gone from his stance. The Crown Prince ignored the offered goblet and Balin became uncertain for a moment for he had surely expected Thorin to lash out and throw the goblet back to him just to see how much the wine would burn his eyes. He wouldn't dodge any attack from the younger dwarf for he was aware how much this old contract would affect his status as the rightful heir to the throne of Durin. Thorin has all the right to lose his composure and express his aggravation through violence.

Balin deposited one of the goblets on the table near his armchair and sipped some from his own before speaking. He didn't dare sit and offer one for the tension between them was too delicate.

"We have two days to prepare a welcome banquet for the arrival of the Elven King and his council. Some of his military officials will also come as our tradition dictates him to do so and he has willingly complied."

With that kind of requirement to go through for the formality of offering a proposal to another kingdom—the Dwarven Kingdom—, it was no doubt a great risk in Thranduil's part to leave Mirkwood vulnerable without his best warriors guarding his territory's gates. That vital point in Balin's statement has just increased the Elven King's integrity and willingness to put his royal house in line with securing the union with the Durins.

At this moment, Thorin had now averted his eyes towards the burning and crackling wood in the hearth. He had remained standing, unaware of the worried glances Balin kept on giving him as he carried on with explaining and reporting to him the tasks he took the liberty to distribute among the council members. His face was eerily blank but deep within his eyes several emotions swam until Balin could no longer accept the silence from his King.

"By Mahal, Thorin!" The wise dwarf finally lost his equanimity and slammed the goblet hard on the table.

Surprisingly, this got the Crown Prince's attention and he was reminded of his own purpose for coming here. He had banged on his advisor's door when rage took over him like a dark blanket strangling his very being. He came in with the intention to express how very much thwarted he was after hearing Bilbo confirm that his own kin, the closest ones to him even, have agreed to give up the last valuable thing he could claim himself his own. However, he could no longer remember a single word he was supposed to say to his most trusted advisor. All he could suddenly feel was defeat and resignation. He knew himself better than to submit easily to this kind of circumstance as a King, but then it was the contract that reminded him of the real situation. He wouldn't even be King if he didn't agree to this. Balin and the whole council, including Dain, had all agreed upon its terms. They have carefully and rightfully considered the consequences if the contract wasn't to go through. No matter what past he had endured, since the late King Thror has given half the life of this contract, he was now the one who should bear the responsibility as the promised heir. It was specifically his name that had been written on the proposal.

"Thorin…" The voice that had been calling him when his mind drifted was now gentle. Balin's aged palm carefully cradled his face like that of an older brother and he reveled in the fond memories when the wise dwarf had always been by his side ever since he was young. He sighed shakily and closed his eyes.

"Thor—in…I am truly sorry." Balin was crying and he didn't try stopping the tears that began to flow from his eyes. Thorin looked at him properly and saw the enormous guilt and sadness through those dark orbs. The last time he had seen the old dwarf cry was after their attempt to reclaim Khazad Dum when there were more loss than victory.

"It's not your fault, Balin." His own voice was hoarse. Lightly squeezing the old dwarf's hand, he bent down to grab the goblet that had been offered to him and downed its contents in one gulp. His brows knitted for a second at the smooth taste. He was used to drinking dwarven ale and was surprised when the wine started to warm pleasantly in his stomach.

"If you must know, it was Bilbo who gave me this wine." Balin blurted out as if it was written on Thorin's face that he presumed the wine must have been a gift from the elves.

The dwarf 'prince' faced him and attempted a smile but failed miserably with the trembling twitch of his lips. He turned for the door and paused to speak,

"Tell Bilbo that I do not hold anything against him. He doesn't have an ounce of fault in this matter."

As soon as Thorin left Balin's quarters, he felt the weight of responsibility grow heavier on his shoulders. He knew in himself that he promised to protect his people, to offer his life for the sake of their safety and their trust in him so that he could once again establish a strong kingdom for the whole of Erebor. He was aware that it was a lifetime commitment and he would do everything in his power for it to stay that way as long as he lived. But now it seems that even within the confines of his own chambers—that he will be forced to share in the near future—wherein he could only be his own person and just being an uncle to his nephews, he will soon no longer have the luxurious opportunity freedom could offer him. His sanctuary will not be his alone in two days time.

Thorin would never admit how this thought scared him greater than the wars he had already faced.

…

The next day, Balin made it his task to inform each member of the council and Dain that Master Baggins has already spoken with Thorin about their agreement in regards to the contract with the Elven King. It was a relief as much as expected disappointment on their part when their king didn't show up at the dining hall. There was a visible tension floating around them. No matter how abundant the breakfast laid out on the table looked appetizing, they painstakingly struggled to swallow their food with the smallest amount of enthusiasm. No one broke the lingering silence. No one mentioned the absence of their hobbit companion as well. They could only tell for sure that Bilbo was now wallowing in guilt he should not blame upon himself.

Balin made sure to send his replies to the letters he received yesterday separately with two ravens before calling the start of meeting in preparation for Thranduil's official visit to Erebor. The council members filed in one by one in the room by the time they all finished with their own personal routines. The old dwarf observed the solemn faces of the dwarves. In particular, Fili and Kili's faces were masks of alarming trepidation. These two were obviously afraid how their uncle would look at them after practically participating in selling his pride to the elves.

They waited for their king to arrive, as it was his right to oversee the proceedings for the arrangements of the upcoming gathering. But no one could be sure if Thorin would actually want to partake in discussing the day his life shall be offered in order to solidify his sovereignty for Erebor.

It was Dwalin's loud sigh that perked up the heads of the other dwarves. Dain looked at the Head of the Royal Guards expectantly. The warrior stood up.

"I'll check if he's still in his room." He made a move for the door and Fili stopped him in time to volunteer to do the task himself.

"No, Master Dwalin…I—I'll go." He exchanged looks with Kili and with an encouraging nod from his younger brother, turned to exit the room.

At exact same moment the Durin heir opened the door, Thorin was about to turn the knob himself. Two sets of blue eyes—one a little darker and the other brighter—connected in that fleeting instant. Fili immediately scrambled off the way to give a path for his uncle. Thorin acknowledged him with a small nod and a straight expression. The young heir frowned at this. He wasn't bothered by being barely acknowledged but his uncle looked more tired than he has ever seen him when they were still doing odd jobs and blacksmithing in the towns of men. He could not compare this to the time they fought in the war for that was a different case altogether. Fili felt his guilt tenfold.

Once the Crown Prince reached the seat at the head of the table, one gesture and the meeting begun.

…

Two days were not enough to have prepared him for this visit to finally arrive. Two days will never be enough to give him time to clear his thoughts and just let the following events to occur without so much as a painful anticipation gripping the insides of his stomach. He couldn't breathe right. He couldn't school his expression to keep it straight and unfeeling. The gathering anticipation in his gut only added negative fuel to the purpose of today's meeting.

He didn't want to run. This wasn't him. He was bred to bear the responsibility of being a Durin ever since he knew how to read the runes of the dwarves and was able to speak a full sentence of Khuzdul, their sacred language. But now he couldn't seem to stop from fleeing from his room and treading almost blindingly through the secret passages inside their mountain towards the labyrinth of caves leading to the bustling marketplace of Erebor. It was a small mercy that he hasn't worn his royal robes to make him enormously obvious of his status; although maybe the intricate braids he was currently wearing could be the blatant indication that he was indeed, Thorin Oakenshield.

He went passed the merchants and other civilians in the busy crowd, entirely oblivious that most of them were giving him shocked expressions in recognition of his face. He wasn't aware of it. He could only pay attention to the strong determination in getting out of this part of the village he had entered, and maybe slip out of the guards' keen alertness—who definitely were trained to know him however the circumstances are—to get out of the mountain.

Of course the guards recognized him instantly as soon as they have caught the significance of the braids of his hair. But they were careful not to encourage ruckus while being in the surrounding of too many villagers. It wouldn't do good to have to explain why the crown prince seemed to be trying to escape when there was an official visit that would be coming from the Mirkwood realm. They were now calmly tracking the position and movements of Thorin.

It will be another gate before Thorin could successfully get out of their kingdom to maybe stay at the woods uphill, west of their mountain—just about an hour on foot. He decided to change his direction, going straight for the side gates where there will be less guards and ask them casually for him to be let out. These guards may question him, not to mean disrespect but to assure his safety. The crown prince carried on with his path. He had been unaware all throughout when the officials of Mirkwood have made their entrance several minutes ago.

…

When the guard at the tower spotted the arriving assemblage of elves, his hand had instinctively moved to grab the robe to ring the bell in order to inform the sentries. Before he could do so, an owl landed firmly on his arm with a scroll tied around his left claw. Reading and instantly understanding the contents, he whistled to get the attention of one of the sentries and gestured to open the gates without blowing the horn. The only symbol they were given to trust this order was the insignia of Mirkwood stamped on the scroll and one warrior elf that had advanced before their King.

The gates opened, bellowing an impressive creak in announcement to the advent of the Eleven Court. The civilian dwarves were not fazed at the moment, still busy going on about their businesses for their own preparations to welcome the elven warriors who they were aware have helped their kingdom to survive the battle and be built to the way it was before Smaug. Not everyone would of course be inclined to participate, as some of them haven't still found in their hearts to forgive the time when these elves abandoned them. However, they have also found it in their minds that they wouldn't hold too much grudge in favor of bringing honor to their own King. The people of Erebor have been informed the news for this celebration of union between dwarves and elves and there had been no objection so far—no one daring to break the fragile peace that they've only just gained mere months ago.

Thranduil scanned the crowd in silent observation. He will not deny feeling lightly elated seeing the dwarves going over their own preparations for his arrival. He knew it was for him for several of these dwarves have made the effort to bring him gifts in his kingdom. He would also never have the thought of being against the other dwarves who haven't forgiven him for the century old decision he had to make for his own people and in rectitude of the dreadful but inevitable fate of Erebor.

Finally, he gestured for his guards to enter the gates before him and followed them. Slowly, when the dwarves have taken notice of the approaching elven officials, they parted in respect, awe, and uncertainty—all in reticence. It was written on their faces how it surprised them that the elves didn't choose to enter Erebor without so much as a grand roaring of horns to warn them of their presence.

The Elven King paid no heed to the quiet whispers that were emerging from the people they were passing by. It was no doubt simple curiosity tugging their lips to gossip as to how the proposal of alliance would go through when the two royal houses have finally gathered together. They were not informed of one important fact that this was no simple alliance in terms of arms and trade. One topic in particular caught Thranduil's notice though, and the concern that had been shyly bothering him suddenly came to light. He knew he should have acknowledged this odd but familiar feeling as soon as it emerged amongst the anxious nerves that thrummed throughout his body.

He halted and his guards immediately took notice. The Elf King guided his elk towards another direction and didn't bother to check if his officials would follow him because they will surely do. He can feel it more clearly now that he has given this feeling its rightful and proper amount of attention. It was this pull he thought he had lost forever. It was this connection he had longed for.

Amidst the continuously moving throng of dwarves, one look at the particular form he'd been familiar with for more than a century and the pull had began to be overwhelming. He wasn't expecting this drastic change in his emotions but it was very welcomed more than he could ever admit. The only factor causing him to gain as much control needed for this swell of sensations was that the dwarf prince has yet to recognize this spiritual link.

…

Thorin stilled the moment he felt the people surrounding him fall into a deafening silence. The resounding thuds of horses and armor boots were what broke the seemingly endless stillness around him. A different tone of released breath piqued him into curiosity and he turned to face whoever or whatever it was that made his people gawk in open wonder. All plans of escape were now being annexed by incursions of inevitabilities. He has no power against it.

It was not Thranduil's intention to bring forth his presence in Erebor to be that of an intimidating one. He couldn't help but wince inwardly when he noticed the small backward step of Thorin when he came face to face with his elk. His elk was the biggest of its kind, a sacred gift given by their maker, and the same one he had ridden when he had supposedly offered aid to the preservation of the dwarven kingdom. He almost felt regret by bringing his beast as his ride when it can all but trigger hatred from Thorin again, but his elk was the very symbol of his status and the right he has as the lord of one of the biggest woodlands of Middle Earth.

One smooth glide from the saddle and he now stood between his elk and Thorin.

Thorin froze minutely but there was no way he would embarrass himself in front of his own people. He straightened his stance to appear as regal as he could. He was a King, dammit! He would face this elf bearing the honor of his Durin line and as the leader of his entire race. The elf king offered an open palm to him and he looked up in confusion.

"I will oblige in carrying on with my proposal in front of your people—out in this crowd and them as your valid witnesses—right at this moment. I will not regret it. But I do believe it may not be what you wish." The words were stated without mockery. The deep voice of the elf king resonated as if he had just made a new law, his expression serious and waiting.

The murmurs from the dwarves in the crowd grew louder and bolder. The very words of the elf king have given light to the truth some rumors others may have conjured when the contract of alliance had been announced a week prior to today. Thorin immediately became uncomfortable but he stood his ground. He was a bit taken aback when Thranduil gradually changed his posture in what seemed to be a position preparing himself to kneel on the ground. The dwarf king stilled for a moment but had the presence of mind to grab Thranduil's hand before he could perform his official proposal in Erebor's marketplace. No matter how much he doesn't want for this marriage to actually occur, it would be a slight to let a King such as Thranduil's caliber to have done this in front of merchants and mere civilians as witnesses. He looked around and saw the line of royal officials regarding him with what may be their own version of wonder through those reserved facade.

Thranduil tightened his grip on Thorin's hand and guided him towards his elk. He wounded an arm around his waist and effortlessly hoisted him up the front seat of the saddle without so much as giving the dwarf prince the chance to react, following soon after to hold onto the reins. With a respectful nod towards their audience, he led his soldiers towards the royal palace of Erebor.

"I will not let you fall." Thranduil murmured when he noticed the way Thorin's knuckles turned white by his death grip on the front arc of the saddle. The dwarf prince's hands twitched.

"You don't ever do that to me in front of my people." Thorin growled. The elven officials may have glanced his way but he didn't care.

"Understood." Thranduil conceded. "Not until the end of this week."

'_When the day that you're officially bound to me_…_Not until then.'_—Were the words unspoken but undeniably indisputable.

…

Thranduil had knelt down on his left knee, graceful limbs folding in one smooth motion. His crown, bearing the majestic antler-shaped branches made from the hardest wood outside of Middle Earth—the Quebracho—coiled with the former Greenwood's finest treasures, was seated upon his head as if the very jewels of the forest came to life with the elven king's existence. He was wearing a simple leather-coated mithril breastplate and armguards embossed with the royal crest; his inner garments followed his movements like the loyal wings of an eagle. From everyone's point of view, he looked every bit of the King that he was. He looked regal and almost ethereal in this impressive show of status—not to boast and intimidate but to stand equal with his intended.

Thorin's robes were similarly remarkable. He belonged to the house being asked in marriage and so it was not necessary for him to wear his armor. According to both kingdoms' ancient tradition and the cursed contract, he was the one to be joined in the royal house of Oropher. He will be the one to accept their name and to carry it together with his title as King of Erebor. It will be an enormous fissure in his pride to be called Consort to Thranduil when the marriage has been done. The only ever reason he would be willing to do this was because it would solidify his place as the rightful King Under the Mountain. And he would do it, without any doubt, for his family and his people.

Two sets of blue eyes stared at each other in what seemed to be an eternity, before the words that will firmly confirm the graveness of this promise of union, have finally been spoken by Thranduil.

…

Thorin stared blankly outside his window. He's been doing so for the past several minutes since the tailors who have assisted him with his wedding robes and light armor left his chambers. He could not feel a thing. He was numb and unaware of the frantic servants, dwarves and elves alike, trying to finalize the royal wedding preparations to its utter perfection. Even Balin and Dwalin's visit to him, offering words of comfort, assuring him of their loyalty and protection drifted like a fleeting memory.

This show of trying to make this day as excellent as any other 'real' marriages should be was pathetic. If only those oblivious dwarves and elves knew of the real reason this marriage has to take place, they wouldn't go to such lengths in order to bring forth a grand celebration.

He was too far-gone in the world of eternal vacuity that he didn't hear his heir knocking and entering his room. Fili had been nervous when he decided to visit his uncle. He and Kili had been arguing who would be best to talk with Thorin before the wedding, considering there hasn't been much opportunity for interaction with their uncle these past few days. In the end, Fili had always been the tactful one between brothers. So here he was, standing awkwardly by the door, before the thought occurred to him that he could obviously tell that Thorin didn't have his usual alertness to sense that there was already someone in his room. The blonde Durin took little, careful steps and gained a bit of confidence when he stopped just beside his uncle's seat by the window. He placed his hand lightly on the crown prince's shoulder.

The sudden weight on Thorin's shoulder couldn't stop him from flinching. A small amount of red blossomed on his cheeks and he immediately cleared his throat to drive away the embarrassment of being caught off guard. He shifted his position so that he could properly look at Fili's face. He was surprised, of course. There had been no sign from his nephews that they would be talking to him soon. Fili's presence, he realized, was a great comfort. Thorin smiled. The blonde Durin was instantly taken aback that the tears he'd been schooling not to flow unbidden were now freely pouring from his eyes.

"Uncle! Forgive me. Forgive u—us. I—we—we didn't…didn't want this to happen. We thought of every possible way for you not t…to have to go through this. But Balin said there was no other option…that he doesn't have the power to change it." Fili choked on his words but he carried on. "I—I tried, Uncle. I had asked if I could replace you. I would marry Thranduil if only it would let you rule Erebor without this contract binding you to share your life with an elf…"

Fili's hysterical apologies stopped as soon as Thorin's firm palms caressed his cheeks. He leaned into the touch and felt guilty by taking comfort in the understanding eyes his uncle was giving him. He should be the one giving comfort, not the other way around. It was not him who has to give up his freedom in order to secure the safety of Erebor.

"Thank you. I am truly honored that you have fought for me. But it is my responsibility alone. I have to accept it."

Without any thought, Thorin bent forward and pressed his lips on his nephew's forehead. He was aware that this was never part of his character to show such vulnerability even towards his family. It was also not the way dwarves show their affections but he could clearly remember the way his own mother would kiss him on his temple so tenderly that the harsh memories of his nightmare would magically dissipate. Fili's eyes widened for a second but melted to the gesture in acceptance. He put his arms around his Uncle, careful not to put creases on his wedding robes and whispered,

"May I? I mean…may I do your braids?" Fili offered hesitantly as there might be a reason why his Uncle did not let the servants from earlier braid his hair. After a moment's breath, Thorin nodded with a smile.

It would be Fili's first time doing these elaborate braiding patterns symbolizing the house of Durin. He learned how to do it as his mother wanted him to do so when he'll be taking his own Consort in the future. (It always made him wonder why his mother insisted that he must be the one to braid his wife's hair.)

There were two kinds of this braiding system; the simpler one serving for engagement and other royal celebration—which Thorin had worn the day Thranduil made his formal proposal—and the more complicated one would be exclusive and duly for weddings. As the male heir to the throne of Durin, Thorin was not supposed to receive this process of braiding. But since he was to join the house of King Thranduil—considering that the Royal Oropherion Family was much older and held a bigger part of land in Middle Earth than the line of Durins, it would only be right to partake with this tradition in their family.

Thorin suddenly wished that his sister, Dís, was already here.

…

By the end of the Elder Elf's proclamation, telling them to seal their spoken vows of marriage, Thorin had not been expecting to be brought up to his toes and feel a gentle hand at the back of his neck guiding his lips toward the elven king's. He had not been expecting to be maneuvered so easily when he had decided to firmly plant his feet on the polished stone floor of the throne room the moment the Elder Elf indicated that it was time for them to show every elf and dwarf that their marriage was finally official.

Nevertheless, the kiss was well founded and sure. The touch of lips against lips was unusual on Thorin's part and Thranduil's startling brush of his tongue on his lips made him quietly gasp in bewilderment. As embarrassing as it was to admit, this might be Thorin's first time to be kissed. He has no idea what the Elven King was trying to do but as soon as he let his mouth open in that short instance of uncertainty, Thranduil had slipped his tongue inside and caressed every part he could touch. Thorin couldn't find it in him to follow through with the action for it was not in his element to know how to reciprocate in this particular situation. An unpredicted sound akin to a moan came from his throat without permission. It felt like a solid kick in the gut to fathom what their audience must have concluded regarding this slip.

There had been other surprised reactions from the audience, most definitely coming from Fili and Kili's side on the seats where his council also sat and Thorin had the impulsive need to stop letting this Elven King show his dominance over him. He was definitely much shorter in height but he was also a King in his own right and there would be no way he'll be presented as someone lesser than this race of elves.

He was not panicking nor was he desperate. However, the frantic way he had clutched onto Thranduil's royal overcoat to push him away made him look as if he was simply trying to hold on tighter. He tried to turn his head but this attempt only became a suggestion to make Thranduil follow his motion. It was devastatingly humiliating to have acted helplessly like that. To add salt to the wound, the Elven Court had applauded for what appeared to be an affectionate display between the two Kings. He pushed on the elf's chest harder, growling a curse in Khuzdul under the shortening pull of breath.

Before he could further pound his pride to the ground, it was like a signal by the gods that Thranduil finally released his lips and satisfyingly set him back on the ground. The kiss had only lasted for a minute but it felt like more time had passed on. A swift steadying hand held his waist when he appeared to lose a bit of his footing. Fiery blue orbs sharply held the elf king's eyes in that instant.

"You cursed elf! You da—!"

"Uncle!" Kili's brown eyes pronounced a very dark glare directed at Thranduil. His deep voice cutting through what was supposed to be Thorin's speech of curses and profanities towards the elf king. If his nephew was unaware of this when he called him, his timing was a great blessing from Mahal for making him stop losing his composure completely when the wedding have all but finished mere seconds ago. It also wouldn't do good to let his disagreement about this whole charade be known to his kingdom.

Thorin heaved a huge breath and closed his eyes. Uncertain fingers touched his hand and he almost violently shoved it away.

"I—I'm sorry…" Kili murmured, shocked by the furious reaction of his Uncle. Thorin, in turn, faced him with wide eyes. He had thought it was Thranduil. Enormous regret clouded his expression.

"No. Forgive me—I thought…I…" His voice cracked.

Catching that tired look from his Uncle's face, Kili instantly understood why Thorin had responded the way he did. A smile appeared on the youngest Durin's face.

"I'll lead you to your seat. Fili and I are seated near you." He offered and it was only then that Thorin realized Thranduil was already positioned on one of the royal chairs and was already engaged in a conversation with some of his council members.

…

A small hand placed a firm grip on his wrist by the time he was gesturing for a servant for his eleventh mug of what must be an elven wine. The dwarven ale had began giving him odd warmth within his stomach to the point of being a bit uncomfortable that it made him decide to take the lighter taste of red wine. He had taken the liberty of doing so when Thranduil had left his side after finally taking the hint that he'd never speak a word with him like a truly and newly married partner in front of his people. The lightheaded sensation the wine provided him elated his mood along with the elf king's absence.

He was leaning his temple heavily on one unsteady palm and turned to face the owner of the hand who interrupted him. There was a small upward twitch of his lips the moment he saw those green orbs concentrating on him.

"I have thought…you'dnever come…" He slurred, eyes glazed with ambiguous focus.

"Thorin. You've taken too much ale and wine. Maybe you should stop or slow down a bit." Bilbo whispered. He had successfully laid down the dwarf king's palm back on the table. A small shift and he gestured a dwarf for a glass of water. He handed it to Thorin as soon as it was delivered.

"Here. "

Thorin took a subtle sniff on the glass and creased his brows in confusion.

"'Tis not wine." He almost sounded like whining.

"It's not but it will help ease some of that buzz from your head."

Thorin complied and took more careful gulps when Bilbo held back the whole glass of water he was about to spill all over his robes. The hobbit put it down on the table right after he had consumed all the liquid. He was supplied with a handkerchief to wipe off the excess droplets that damped his short beard. Nodding in thanks, once again he was centered in Bilbo's focus. The pull of the hobbit's seriousness in his eyes was strong and he found himself looking back with a passable amount of acknowledgement this time as the cool freshness of water provided him with some clarity in his surroundings.

"Thorin I just wanted to tell you—"

"I believe it is time for us to retire to our chambers." Thranduil's deep tone impeded whatever Bilbo was about to say to the dwarf king. It was not in his intention to interrupt but it didn't seem to pose as a valid excuse to his untimely return from the way the hobbit scowled at him. Bilbo couldn't help but huff in annoyance, his reaction deliberately ignored.

The elf king had been drinking lots of wine himself. He even welcomed the more bitter taste of dwarven ale but it had not been enough to give him the convenient buzz of drunkenness. No strong alcohol has ever really been that potent to affect his senses as how other normal beings would have been pissed about. It was a trait in his elven blood he usually does not take advantage of but tonight was a complicated type of circumstance. One glance at Thorin's hunched form, flushed cheeks and the radiance of alcohol-heated skin, Thranduil had the sudden impulse to shake him to alertness. Underneath the agitated visage though, long hidden desire rippled through his veins like the blazing fires in Orodruin.

He was a bit surprised when those blue orbs he have compared to the great seas of Aman were now looking at him with a flash of fervor that could not be categorized the same way as he was feeling.

As unbelievable as it may seem to appear (to the dwarves who witnessed Smaug's terror and to the Crown Prince's company), Thranduil can perfectly understand why there was this kind of hatred that grew as a great barrier in his relationship with Thorin. Abandonment during the direst of times was a huge message of betrayal. At that point in their young history, there was really nothing Thranduil could have done to stop the horrific desolation of Smaug. If he had charged his warriors into a futile battle—not much preparation they were able to accomplish on their side—that destruction would have ended three of the great nations in this part of Middle Earth; the Men, the Dwarves, and Elves. Thranduil would never have forgiven himself if the last he would be able to offer Thorin was the annihilation of his own kingdom. He knew he had chosen the right decision back then, no matter how much life had to end for them to finally arrive in this moment. It had not been his choice to make. But from now on, he had sworn it would be. He had fulfilled his bargain with the gods that have blessed their contract and if they shall grant their word of promise to him, everything that has been sacrificed will be worth this hatred he'll have to endure from Thorin…even if the dwarf king's love would never be part of it.

As long as Thorin lived.

As long as he stayed by his side till the end of their days.

…

"Do not touch me, you filthy elf!" Thorin growled. The walk from the dining hall towards the royal chambers had given him time to ease the cloudiness of his mind. His vision slowly became clearer, enough for him to track his movements correctly while he navigated through the winding corridors.

He's had enough of the elf king's unwelcome existence and his pretentious concern when he stumbled twice over a crooked stone block on the floor. He was a bit proud of himself when he had only waved an arm to ward off Thranduil's offer of assistance rather than blatantly shoving him until he heard a satisfying sound of muscle and bones hitting the hard wall. It was a violent thought but the dwarf wished he would actually be given the chance to do it anytime soon.

They have just entered the chambers and Thranduil didn't hesitate in grabbing his arm to guide him towards the enormous bed. Thorin seethed at this boldness.

"You do not control me. You do not own me!" He stood up. His anger rising every second the elf king returned his irate words with nothing but a straight expression and blue eyes that showed a different emotion altogether. Profanities and vile insults in Khuzdul freely escaped his mouth and he was surprised when the elf finally found his voice to speak to him after he had stayed silent all throughout their trek to this room. It may be because that now they were alone from the gaging eyes of both their people. Or it would be purely because no audience would be witnessing the true color of the Elf King that he has decided to let go of the mask.

"You are now mine, Thorin Durin Oropherion. You are married to me. From this day forth, you carry my name before any other titles you have gained. Erebor is no longer yours to rule alone. It was King Thror who had offered you to achieve this solid alliance. The birthright that you claim to have is all but useless without my very existence. If you really are the Durin prince that you insist to be, then—!"

One wrong turn of the head and Thranduil might have already lost his right eye if he had moved a millisecond later. The glaring sharp tip of the dagger Thorin had lunged directly at his face was able to leave a clean cut slightly above his cheekbone. The dwarf's assault didn't end at that point though as another slash diagonally aiming for his bicep resulted to a broad rip on the left arm of his leather armguard extending through the blue robes underneath, just barely sparing his skin and flesh a painful laceration. He could feel the threatening breath of the dagger crawling upon the exposed limb and the tingling danger created goose bumps on his skin. It made him think if removing his mithril armor earlier had been a wrong decision.

A fist ramming on the side of his torso caught him off guard and the surprise along with the impact caused him to stumble gracelessly against the corner of a table. Various items clattered on the floor and a decent size carafe that contained either ale or wine spilled its blood red liquid, reaching up and staining a ghastly pattern on the spread of fur near the bed.

"I am King Under the Mountain! I'm no longer the prince you have seen just standing by the side of the throne. For the century that my people and I have lived in exile, I have served them more than what a King like you would ever have done. You who lack honor! You could not even take the risk of trying to save my people! You are a coward."

The elf king was half standing when Thorin charged forward again and Thranduil was now perfectly prepared to counter it. He seized the dwarf's wrist before the deadly tip of his weapon reached his jugular. The bruising grip he has on Thorin lightly weakened the strike of his elbow that moved straight to the other side of the elf's waist. Thranduil accepted the blow and took the opportunity to trap the arm without the dagger between their chests.

"You do not know what you speak of, young one." Thranduil hissed while they continued to struggle between their strengths. "You have not yet lived long enough to know everything about being a King. I have sacrificed things that you would never even consider imagining. I had to give up people I have treasured more than my own life in this world." The unexpected shift of emotion in his eyes didn't go unnoticed as the fury that filled Thorin's eyes made way for a hint of ambiguity.

"There is only one thing I treasure…that I would never give up. Aside from my kingdom. Aside from my people. Not in any lifetime."

Thorin pulled a sharp intake of breath in realization. One powerful shove and he has freed himself from Thranduil's arms. The elf's hands fell boneless on the floor. Thorin couldn't understand the change in his demeanor.

"Do not fight me, Thorin. I was never your enemy. I will accept the hatred you found in my faults." The Elf King moved and knelt on his knee. One fisted hand rested on the ground while the other lay firm on his bent leg. His head was tilted downwards in a half bow—the bow of a High Lord. It was the formal stance that symbolized the ultimate dedication of a King to his consort. A gesture that would show a King's submission to lay down his life completely without qualms for the person he's been bound to live with. The torn royal garment did not make him any less regal even in this vulnerable posture.

"Give me the chance to prove myself to you. _Amin naa tualle._"

It was no doubt that the King of Mirkwood was sincere when he had spoken these words to Thorin. The dwarf king, however, received it in an entirely different light. Thranduil raised his head only to land upon the look of revulsion the dwarf directed at him. Right then and there, he knew that Thorin would not give himself a chance to reciprocate the elf's feelings.

"You disgust me. What makes you think that I will accept your affections…yo—your _love_?" Thorin spat the last word as if the very taste of it was as vile as the dark blood of Smaug. He was now looming over the elf, dagger still held with intention.

"I will not accede to the declarations of the Elf who abandoned my people, who betrayed us without a second thought."

Thranduil could feel his heart slowly being torn apart—felt like the very muscle of his life source was being sliced deliberately and repeatedly with a blunt knife. Behind all the thoughts and onslaught of insults he was sure he would receive, there had always been that tiny part that contained his hope. The forbidden flaw in his composure was starting to burn out a bigger hole.

"If I knew that I would be bound to you, I would have chosen to die in the hands of Azog."

And that assertion was a very big mistake.

The last bit of control had instantly taken away Thranduil's self-possession as soon as those abominable words came out of Thorin's mouth. He was not aware how he snatched the dagger from the dwarf's death grip but he heard the loud sound of metal connecting on hardwood. He had slammed the blade so hard on the table that it buried to the hilt and caused the slab to almost break in half.

Thorin had taken a step back with this show of strength but he didn't have the opportunity to dodge the strong grasp of the elf king. A burst of white filled his vision the moment he'd been thrown and his head met the carved stone of the bed's headboard. He vaguely heard a loud knock suddenly rattling the doors of the chamber.

Thranduil had growled towards the intruder and spoke a few elven words to open the door. The one who entered was tall and that little clue had given answer to Thorin that it was an elf who had knocked and not one of his guards. The elf guard sounded calm but his words were hurried, bordering an anxious tone. Thranduil hissed a few Sindarin to him and the elf made a stiff bow before exiting the room. There was the sound of lock clicking back firmly.

Within the haze of the recent impact, he saw that Thranduil had already removed his remaining armor as he approached him. Thorin immediately made a grab at the nearest item he could reach on the bedside counter and threw it. The elf king caught it effortlessly and crushed the glass chalice with his bare hand, totally indifferent of the thick shards that caused blood to trickle down his wrist. Thorin's eyes widened and fear began to coil in his gut. He scampered off to slide away from the fur cushions but the elf had already seized one his legs. The pull was harsh and unforgiving. His back collided with Thranduil's hard chest after he has been trapped within the confines of the elf's arms. He was almost squeezing him that breathing became hard.

"Take back those words. Tell me that you would not rather be killed by that _beast_." Thranduil snarled in his ear. He sounded incensed but at the same time, pleading.

Thorin continued to struggle fruitlessly.

"I would choose the deadly blow of his mace than be with yo—!" The elf king has buried his teeth at the side of Thorin's neck, drawing blood. His tongue snaked all over the wounded skin and breathed in the expanse of flesh that was not covered with beard. He put his knee heavily on the back of the dwarf, effectively pinning him to the bed.

The ripping sound of silk and the scratchy rattling of chainmail torn out a sound that triggered something in Thorin. He felt the cold breeze of the night coming from the open window touch his newly exposed skin and froze at the impending punishment he was about to experience.

"Do not touch me! I'll break all the bones in your bod—Ah..!"

One long finger entered him without caution. The invasion was unwelcome and his body responded violently in the sudden sting. The finger moved with purpose, making him writhe but only causing a foreign burning in his insides. Thorin clutched onto the sheets and held onto them to try and haul himself away from the intruding touch.

"I saved you from the poison of that mace not to hear you wish you have died from it." A brutal curve of his finger and the dwarf choked in a pained gasp. He added another finger and Thorin was now clawing on his arm and robes that still clung on his body. He maneuvered him easily onto his back so that he could stare at those blue eyes. Blacks dilated in distress with the inconsiderate twist of his body while fingers remained moving inside him.

"I—I'll kill you…! I'll kill you…" The dwarf weakly cursed, followed by words in Khuzdul Thranduil would not spare a single thought to while rage still bubbled up within him. Being aware of how much Thranduil could overpower him was a horrendous torture to Thorin.

The elf leaned forward and gave a small mercy by slowly withdrawing his fingers. He ripped his own breeches and shifted further down to position himself directly at Thorin's entrance. The dwarf realized his intention as soon as the blunt tip of Thranduil's shaft grazed him. The strength of his struggles increased with new vigor as the panic settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

"NO!" —Was the desperate cry that escaped his mouth when the elf king drove into him. The thrust was difficult and dry. The oil that he was supposed to use to ease his way in did not cross his mind by the time his awareness of control totally slipped away. But with the whole of his length already buried deep inside the dwarf, there would be no turning back.

Thorin's tightness was a pleasant irresistible sensation. The desire Thranduil had been keeping for years and years now came rushing in, releasing mad lust from the very pores of his skin. It was exhilarating—this freedom of emotion, this letting go. He would not have been cruel with his taking but the remorseless words that Thorin had spoken were a great acid to the barriers of his heart.

He pulled back a little and pushed back in with a force. A rush of warm moisture licked around his length and that small part of him knew that he had ripped something inside the dwarf. He could not let himself stop. This was a lesson. This pain had to be inflicted so that Thorin could understand how being alive truly meant. That with his life almost taken away from the battle, it was granted back to him; every loss, every sacrifice, every success, every challenge, and every emotion—every meaning of it should come to light with the right understanding. The entire existence of an individual never revolved in one single axis. One life will always affect another, no matter how big or small.

Tears blurred Thranduil's eyes as he continued to thrust inside Thorin, incoherent sounds coming out of the dwarf the very indication that he was feeling every movement through his body. With every sharp pull of breath and each solid shove pronounced the proof that he was aware of all this.

"Accept this pain." A thrust. "Feel it, Thorin. Feel me moving inside you." A sound above a whisper. "Know that you are alive, _A'maelamin_." A silent growl, a secret plea.

And the flood of elven endearments spilled from his lips whilst he wept and kissed every inch of Thorin's skin. His tongue traced the dip of his back. Trembling mouth explored and worshipped the pale thighs, sliding to the sides of the torso, and up to the now bared shoulders as his fingers laced through the silken dark locks to trap them in his grasp. He claimed those open lips to muffle the moan and the embrace of warm breath made him shiver.

"No one will ever touch you intimately the way I caress you… No one will take you away from me or they will die in my hands." He kissed the sweat-glistened temple tenderly. "You will not leave my side. Not again. Not ever. I will not permit it."

…

Five times he had let go of his seed inside of Thorin and the flow of tears never stopped. He didn't know if it was the guilt of taking the dwarf's last bit of pride by forcing this consummation on him. But there would be not a single ounce of regret; he knew it in his core.

Thorin had fortunately lost consciousness by the end of Thranduil's fifth release. His muscles began to relax when the throbbing rawness he felt all over his body exhausted the last reserves of his energy. His form gradually turned pliant on the elf's arms.

He was no longer aware when the elf's seed, along with a bit of his blood, trickled down between his bruised legs. He was no longer aware when a clean blanket was draped carefully over his body. He was already succumbed to the dark comfort of sleep when Thranduil had asked for forgiveness.

Not only for taking him brutally.

Not only for the destruction of Smaug.

But most importantly, for being the sole person in Middle Earth to have taught the Elf King's heart how love can truly and utterly melt even the hardest of stones.

* * *

><p><strong>BTW everyone, I also have an account in Ao3 (I am called: MahalsBeard; yep please don't laugh =D) so if you guys prefer to read this story through there, I would appreciate it all the same. But I'm not giving up on my account here so chapter updates will still be posted. (Though, might take a little later than updates from Ao3)<strong>

**Danke Schon Jeder! 3 (Thank you, everyone!)**


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